Getting There
by sleepwell
Summary: Stefan and Damon. Eternally joined through death, separated frequently in 'life'. How did their relationship develop in the century-plus before Elena?  Why hadn't they seen each other for 15 yrs? Pre-Season One. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This will be a several chapter story, focusing on the relationship between Damon and Stefan. Flashbacks will lead up to present day (end of Season Two). Warning: Mature Themes. Enjoy and please review!

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><p>He could feel the young man's life force fading, the heartbeat growing weaker and weaker with each contraction. At the exact moment the all-important muscle ceased to function, he pulled out, retracting his bloodied fangs.<p>

Lying there, his face buried in the ravaged neck, he continued to inhale and exhale, slowing his breathing to mimic the fading pulse of the human under him. He held his breath at the exact time of death, and raised his head.

Gently, his long fingers smoothed closed the blank eyes staring up at him. He softly brushed back the boy's hair and gazed down at the now still face, noting the fine features, the dusting of freckles across the nose bridge, the delicate sprinkling of blood covering the pouting lips, checks and eyelids.

He lowered his head once more, resting it upon the lad's unmoving chest, his hand still caressing the dead boy's curls. He lay there as the night moved on, motionless except for his unceasing stroking.

Finally, as pre-dawn light began to creep through the drawn curtains, he rolled off the cold, stiff form beneath him. Lying naked on his back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling, he forced himself to focus, to plan his next move.

He needed to leave town. This would make the fifth 'late-teen white male' found naked and lifeless inside of four months, a gaping neck wound indicating a common thread, the unnatural 'cause of death'.

The metallic taste inside his mouth began to overtake his previously numbed senses. He suddenly became aware of the sticky, drying blood covering his lips, chin and neck. Simultaneously, his mind registered the sticky, drying cum on his public area, his abdomen.

Clambering hurriedly over the body, scrambling off the jumbled bed, he barely made it to the adjoining bathroom, vomiting streams of blood and semen into the toilet. He continued to dry heave for what felt like forever, kneeling on the cold, uneven tiles; welcoming the discomfort the hard ceramic provided his body.

When he could move without the entire room spinning, he hauled himself into a semi-standing position. Staring at himself in the mirror, he searched for some small remnant of the person he once had been. The carefree, confident, 'fuck-you' young man he had embodied before his death.

There was no trace of that human in the cold, soulless eyes staring steadily back at him, not in the blood stained face, nor the pale, chiseled flesh. He had become an immortal killer, a hater of mankind. A predator who sought something, someone he could not find.

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><p><em>He had tracked him for months, using his intuition and the occasional report from a fellow 'traveler'. Had found him living on the edge of a forest, subsisting on deer and raccoons. <em>

_After the usual initial period of watching each other warily, treading lightly and speaking carefully, they had resumed their familiar pattern, the always-present acrimony and hurt kept at bay by the over-riding joy of being together. _

_For a year, it had been enough, more than enough, and he had reveled in the closeness, the love he had felt for the other male._

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><p>The final night had started out a little differently than most, sharing a meal, together, in public. They rarely ate, food tending to make them feel slightly nauseous. However, they were celebrating something, what exactly, he couldn't remember.<p>

He had glamorized the waitress into bringing them bottle after bottle of a fine red wine, dusty from the classy restaurant's well-stocked cellar. They had talked idly, if at all, the silence between them comfortable. It had been a pleasant evening, the culmination of many.

He had glanced up, in time to catch his beloved crassly licking his spoon, attempting to gather every last morsel of a decadent chocolate mousse.

Laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, he had drawled, "That is some serious tongue action you've got going on there. I'm getting hard just watching. Can I just say that your obvious skills are being wasted on a steel utensil?"

He had been rewarded with said appendage being stuck out in his direction. With inhuman speed he had lunged across the table, grabbing and holding onto the protruding tongue.

"Ha!" he had exclaimed, leaning awkwardly across dishes and lit candles, "Now what are you going to do? Because I'm not letting go."

Unexpectedly, instead of trying to pull away, the tongue's owner had managed to continue his licking, sucking. But now it was the restraining fingers receiving his attention, the spoon forgotten, resting on the floor where it had landed with a clatter.

He had quickly released his hold on the moving, seeking tongue, yet left his hand suspended, gasping as each digit was drawn into the other man's mouth. One by one, slowly, seductively, fingers had been pulled in with firm force and released with a suggestive, popping sound.

He had felt himself growing hard as he continued to look into those fucking fantastic eyes. Finally, his task completed, the other male had sat back in his chair, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought you weren't letting go?" the smug son-of-a-bitch had murmured, affection in his voice.

"Check please" was all he could manage in response. Laughter had echoed in his ears as he had attempted to navigate the small space with his pant front still glaringly tented.

They had rented a small cottage at the each of the forest. It was far away from the nearest building, close to a small lake. A peaceful, quiet setting, it had been 'home' for that entire year.

Their clothes hadn't made it through the door that night; a Hansel and Gretel trail of pants, shirts and undergarments marking a path from the car up the creaky front steps.

The rickety lounge chair on the wooden, peeling porch had groaned under their combined weight. He had landed on top, having walked the slighter male backwards from the car, kissing him fiercely all the while.

"Oof. You're heavy. Shift please." He had refused, intent on marking that graceful neck, needing to grind against that long, slender, hard-as-nails cock. His own erection had been heavy, throbbing by this point, he hadn't been confident about his staying power.

Reaching down, he had hooked his arms around the knees that willingly bent for him. Had hoisted those slim, strong legs over his shoulders. He had paused, intently scanning the green eyes that had regarded him with openness, a trust that threatened to sweep him away, to drown him.

"You OK?" he had whispered. The nod and hands pulling him closer had been all the encouragement he had needed. Moaning, he had entered the waiting body slowly, carefully. Had waited, allowing him time to adjust.

Again, another nod, a grunted "Move. Now. Please." Their passion had built, bodies pushing together, pulling apart, steadily moving towards climax. Eyes had remained locked, husky voices had exchanged the occasional word of encouragement, of endearment.

It was like this every time. He had no restraint, no ability to hold back when he was with him. He craved him, almost as much as he craved human blood.

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><p><em>And therein lay the rub<em>. As someone bastardizing Shakespeare would say. Or as he put it, "You choose killing over me. Every time. I can't be with you when you are killing humans. I fight so hard to resist. Every day. But I do it, I manage. You don't try. Not hard enough. If you really wanted to be with me, forever, like you say you do, you would stop."

Which wasn't fair. Because he did try, each and every time the two of them managed to find their way back to each other.

He just couldn't commit to the forest-fed diet, the herbivores or even the occasional fox or its cousin, the wolf. He could manage for short periods of time. The joy of being with him (and lots and lots of alcohol) helped keep the thirst abated for a while.

But the urge, the inner command to hunt, to kill returned, unwanted, unbidden. And no amount of love the other offered was enough. And it killed him inside.

His inner struggle would become their outward war. The verbal taunts and jabs starting up yet again, consuming their days and destroying their nights. Their fighting would continue, unabated, escalating until it threatened to overtake them both, destroying everything good about the two of them together.

And then his world would collapse. He would awake one day, like that last morning, and he would be alone. Left behind. By the one he loved. The only one he had ever truly loved, without reservation, without hesitation. He would flick that inner switch and resume the quest for human blood, without feeling, without remorse. On his own.

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><p>Almost two years had passed since that night and the following final, fateful morning. The early dawn that had precipitated his spiral into this present abyss of darkness. Because this time had been the worst. Things had, (to put it mildly) 'gotten out of hand.'<p>

Snarling, he smashed both fists into the glass, shattering it into small pieces. His knuckles opened, spilling blood and flesh onto the wall then dripping down onto the counter top.

He turned quickly, nearly falling as a new wave of nausea caused him to lose his balance, caught himself on the wall.

The shower stall was filthy, moldy. He didn't care. He stood under the boiling hot water until it turned frigid, repeatedly soaping and scouring his skin until it burned, became raw and bled.

The only towel was damp and smelled like ass but he didn't pause in drawing it over his sensitized skin, rubbing himself semi-dry with rough, careless movements.

He began to collect his clothes, which were strewn about the messy room. His shirt (the first item of clothing to have been removed) was draped over the bedroom's only lamp. He located his pants under the lone blanket puddled on the crusty carpet.

Pausing, he stared down at the body on the bed.

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><p>"<em>Hi, I'm Bobby. Can I buy you a drink?" The teen had wanted it, wanted him. Needing cock in a small town in the late 1950's couldn't be easy. He must have seemed like a godsend to the tall, handsome, eighteen year old. <em>

_Repeating what had, sadly, become routine for him, the two had spent several hours drinking and flirting in the gloomy, almost empty bar. Leaving together, he had ignored the pointed look of the disapproving bartender._

_He had laughed when the younger man seemed to almost cream his pants at the sight of the gleaming Porsche Spyder parked sideways in the lot, under the tavern's only streetlight. _

"_Geez" the youngster had exclaimed in awe and delight, "This is the exact model of car James Dean was killed in. Same colour and everything. Wow." The boy had run his hand lovingly, carefully, along the well-polished silver hood. "Can I really ride in it?"_

"_Yeah" he had responded, opening the passenger door gallantly, "And if you're a really good boy and don't get any on the leather, I'll even let you blow me in it. That would be one for the record book."_

_It was 'Bobby' who had eventually suggested the nearby motel, a shit-hole that rented rooms by the hour. The smitten, sexually charged young man had been happy to have him pay for an entire night. In cash._

_The sex had been good, really good in fact. As the saying went, what 'Bobby' had lacked in experience, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. And stamina. Ah, the energy of youth._

_And then, as always, at the height of his arousal, memories had flooded him, pulling him down, taking him to that dark place. He had quickly become overly conscious of the human's breathing, the blood surging through that young body, and his hunger grew. _

_He had tried to fight the all-encompassing desire, this burning need for human blood. He always fought it, every time. But he couldn't beat it down. The hunger overcame him, his fangs fighting their way through, his rapacious nature taking over, pushing all last vestiges of control away, out of reach._

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><p>Shaking his head, he pulled himself back into the moment. He spent the next few minutes trying to locate his underwear and socks. Giving up, he stepped into his shoes, which, interestingly enough, had been placed carefully, properly, beside the closed door.<p>

Dressed, he cautiously pulled open the heavy metal door, glanced up and down the dingy hallway. Finding it empty, he stepped out and let the door swing shut behind him, clicking as the lock settled into place.

He quickly walked down the corridor and exited the motel through the unarmed emergency door. He strode purposefully to his waiting car, cursing under his breath as he discovered the keys were no longer in his pant pockets.

Shrugging, he turned and casually sauntered away from the shabby, single story building, its neon sign flashing behind him, painting him in red and then fading to black.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all who have signed on to read this story. SlashAddx, you are too smart! (But no spoilers, please, PM me your guess, I'm betting you'll have things figured out by the end of this chapter! ;) ) Please feel free to review, it helps me immensely!

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><p>He had been stalking him for what seemed like days now. Watching him from across the bar. Following him through the crowded streets. Standing outside the decrepit apartment building late at night, lingering under the proverbial lamppost.<p>

He wasn't sure what drew him to the young man. His long dirty blonde curls, muscular build and blue (or were they green?) eyes bore no resemblance to the other male he sought to find, to forget.

Ten years on his own. In complete solitude, no companionship, no sharing of trivial day to day happenings, no one to bare his dark twisted soul to. It had been tough. More than tough, it had been hell on earth. As he deserved.

He had survived by keeping all human feelings firmly turned off. Had focused on perfecting his hunting skills, continually searching out victims that, alternatively, resembled the man who had deserted him, or who were so dissimilar that no comparisons could be drawn.

Except, either way, he was haunted. On rare occasions, late into the night, with innocent blood on his hands, a body at his feet, the pain would force its way past his inner, barricaded, almost non-existent soul.

The loneliness, the futility of his existence would hit him like a tsunami, blindsiding him, overcoming all his defenses. In that instant, he would be brought to his knees, screaming out the name of the one who had abandoned him.

Occasionally, he met up with a fellow 'traveler', a night dweller who had seen him from a distance or who had even spent time with him. Apparently he continued to avoid his predatory nature, steering clear of cities where humans congregated in large numbers, preferring instead to dwell in forested areas, mountains or small towns.

The traveler would shake his head in a negative motion to the question. 'No, he didn't mention you. No, not even once. '

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><p>He was confident that his presence had gone unnoticed. The sexy 'twenty-something' male seemed to be enamored with the band's saxophone player, a large, blue-black man who swayed seductively and stared back at the rather out of place white boy as he played.<p>

The youngster returned to this same small, smoky, sweaty jazz club most nights, his fairness juxtaposed against the bar's mainly black clientele. He sat at the back of the room, always alone, steadily drinking. Brandy. Which seemed an odd drink of choice for a long-haired, tie-dyed, sandal-wearing hippy hanging around on 63rd Street.

He kept his distance, waiting for the opportune moment. Which came the night of April 5, 1968. The city had been in a state of unrest all day. The news hit the residents of South Side hard. The vibe in the neighborhood was one of a time bomb waiting for the slightest spark to ignite, to incite sorrow into acts of rage; to fuel the mounting need for to revenge.

The mood in the club was tense. The music playing on, unheard, unappreciated, the usual dancing crowd milling about, unable to settle. Some people were openly crying, others waved their fists in anger, in protest.

The noise outside on the street continued to swell, overpowering even the normally mind-blowing trumpet wails. Suddenly, the trumpet player ceased playing mid note as a large object crashed through the window, sending shards of glass flying into the bare arms and unprotected faces of the bar's patrons.

Then, as the saying goes, 'all hell broke out'. The crowd in the club pushed over each other in their attempt to exit through the door's small front entrance. In their haste, people were shoved up against each other, into walls, some landing awkwardly, dangerously, on the beer-sticky floor.

He quickly scanned the room, looking for the head of sandy curls amidst the high Afros and flat-ironed hair. Located him still sitting at the back of the room, calmly surveying the bedlam before him, sipping his brandy almost offhandedly, as if such chaos occurred on a regular basis.

Pushing against the crowd, he made his way awkwardly towards the seated male, up righted a chair and, placing it alongside the motionless figure, dropped into it, glancing sideways at the still figure.

"You OK?" he yelled over the din. The other male turned his head slowly to look at him. Expressionless, he replied "Yeah."

"We should get out of here. Things are going to get pretty ugly I think. People are in the mood for a riot." The young man didn't move. Or respond. This was not going to be as easy as he had hoped. Apparently the role of 'hero rescuer' wasn't the way to this particular hippy's heart.

He quickly changed tactics. "Let's get the hell out of here. This isn't our fight. I've got some great weed. Wanna go somewhere and get high?"

His last statement seemed to grab the man's attention. Piercing green (or were they blue?) eyes regarded him from under a mop of curls. (Holy shit, that hair was _begging_ to be grabbed and roughly caressed)

"What makes you think I smoke pot?" The voice was deep, authoritative, with an indiscernible accent, a slight huskiness in its tone. It surprised and enticed him, the persona of 'sexy, easy-going hipster' in sharp contrast to the vocals.

"I don't know. Your shirt? It kinda gives off a 'free love, peace, groovy-man' vibe. But, if I'm wrong, I apologize. I certainly didn't mean to offend. Or intrude." Fuck, he thought, the guy was making him work for it.

But that was OK, it was the mind fucking he enjoyed the most while on the hunt, the head games that he invariably won.

He stretched out an arm across his chest, towards the shirt in question, planning to land a finger 'accidentally' on a clothed nipple. Started as his hand was grabbed before it reached its destination. His fingers gripped in an ironclad grasp. Christ, the dude was strong.

He attempted to retract the offending appendages but his fingers continued to be held, less tightly now, but with a strength that would require matching. And he didn't want to get into a battle of force.

Instead, he allowed his hand to be held across his body, suspended mid-air. He forced himself to relax his fingers, soften his arm, so that his weight fell onto the other man.

His upper extremity was lowered gently to the tabletop. Fingers still intertwined, the two locked eyes. (Where had he seen those eyes before?) He couldn't help himself. He smirked. This was so Alpha-doggish.

The younger man smiled in return, yet the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't like to be touched without warning. Your hand is cold. And it's really hot in here. Why is that?"

"I'm cold blooded. Like a reptile. But you're definitely warming me up." The double entendre wasn't lost on the other and the blonde grimaced knowingly.

"You want to fuck me." It was said in a very matter of fact tone, no attempt at guile.

God, the guy didn't waste any time laying it out there. So much for the mind games, the dance, the posturing. His intentions had been revealed without the need for seduction. (He never tried to glamour his male conquests; it took the 'fun' out of the sport.)

"Are you objecting? Because if I'm wasting my time I can always go join in the riot."

Glancing around, the two noticed that they were now alone in the club. Everyone, including the bartender and band members, had fled; whether to escape the mob or to add to its ranks was unknown.

And he found that he wasn't really interested in what was going on outside. He was totally captivated with the man sitting alongside him. The thrill of the chase was on.

"Hmmm. Looks like you'd have some catching up to do if you wanted to join in the fun. Judging from the sounds outside, the pillaging and fighting is well under way. And your pasty white skin and obviously expensive clothing may hinder your attempts to join in the rabble rousing."

His first thought was, 'Who the hell says 'rabble rousing'?' Followed closely by 'He still hasn't let go of my hand.' It was the second thought he chose to focus on.

"Well" he drawled, leaning in closer, "you, my friend, stand out in this neighborhood at the best of times. If I were you, I'd be worried about losing those locks." He tentatively reached up with his free hand.

Looked questioningly at the other man, who nodded, granting permission. He lightly touched a stray ringlet, brushing it gently back, away from that beautiful face. His breath caught.

The green (blue?) eyes finally lost their severity, softening at his touch. God, it was killing him, those eyes, he could swear he'd gazed into them before. But that was impossible. He'd never met this gorgeous creature; he would _definitely_ have remembered the feel of that hair, the strong jaw, and those haunting eyes.

"You like my hair." It was a statement, an expression of fact. "It turns you on. You want to run your fingers through it, grab a hold of it while I suck you off."

His hard on was instantaneous. Shit, the guy was good at this. Almost as impressive at mind fucking as himself. Shaking his head, he tried to get gain control of the situation.

"Yeah, you turn me on. Not just your hair. Although it definitely is a plus. What about you? What turns you on?"

"Saxophone players" was the quick reply. "But you already know that. Because you've been watching me for quite some time now. So, if I was to say, 'let's go back to my place', you'd know exactly how to get us there."

Fuck. His stalking prowess was clearly lacking. And he prided himself in his ability to follow his prey unseen, undetected. Who the hell was this guy?

Feeling slightly annoyed, he pulled both hands away, breaking contact. Was laughed at, further bruising his ego.

"OK, so I'm that obvious. Sorry." He moved to stand up but was quickly returned to his seat by the firm hand on his arm. "I didn't say I _objected _to you watching me. It will simply save time, you knowing where I live. We might get separated out there."

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><p>They reunited in the apartment building's smelly, dingy vestibule. The young man led him up a dark, narrow staircase to a cramped landing. The door facing them was held shut by no fewer than five locks, each large and imposing.<p>

"Well, no one is getting in there without a lot of effort" he chuckled. His laugh was cut off by a rough kiss. "Let's hope it's worth your 'effort' then," the other murmured into his mouth. Damn, his erection was back.

The inside of the apartment caused him to stop mid-kiss. Stepping out of the embrace, he stared around at the spacious, roomy room he found himself in. Large, heavy, ornate furniture decorated the space, a luxurious carpet under his feet, oil canvases, of what appeared to be stiffly posed ancestors, covering the walls.

"Shit" he exclaimed, "I'm guessing you're not the starving bohemian artist you portray so well. There is some serious money in this room."

The curls were tossed back in annoyance. "Family money. This apartment was given to me. I need time away from them. My parents and siblings can be too much at times. So I escape to the city. I love jazz. And getting high. And fucking strangers during riots." They both laughed. "Yeah, family can be a real pain in the ass" he agreed.

The bedroom was large, empty except for an over-sized bed. Mirror on the ceiling. 'Kinky' he thought, nodding approvingly.

Found himself being pushed backwards, the two of them landing in a tangled heap atop the satin sheets. 'Whoa there, cowboy" he cautioned with a grin "I break easily."

"Somehow I doubt that" was the muffled reply, "Hmm, you have the most fantastic tasting neck." And as if to drive the point home, he was bitten rather sharply.

Christ, those almost felt like fangs. The following sucking action instantly drove the fleeting notion from his mind.

His clothes were removed quickly, with well-practiced ease. The wild curls were in continuous contact with his body: soothing his ravaged neck, tickling his torso, feathering over his abdomen, and (as promised) providing an outlet for his hands which clenched and pulled as he was serviced with the most incredible blowjob of his entire fucking existence.

He fell heavily back against the pillows, panting, his arm thrown across his face. The long hair was dragged back upwards along his body and he was enveloped in strong, muscular arms.

"Wow" he managed. "Now what can I do for you?" The heavier man chuckled.

"Weren't you watching in the mirror? Your, um, shall we say 'excitement', caused me to join in courtesy of my own hand. We both came at pretty much the exact same moment. However, I'm guessing you had your eyes shut. And you do make a lot of noise."

"Shit" he shifted to look at his naked bedfellow, "Sorry, man. Give me ten minutes and I promise I'll make it up to you."

"I know you will." A slow kiss was placed on his chest as the other man rose and waked naked across the room. "I'll be right back, I'm going to the bathroom. Need anything?"

He shook his head in a negative motion. Lying in the quiet apartment, he could hear the sounds in the street. Chicago wasn't going to be a pretty sight in the morning. Drifting, he floated into that space between consciousness and dreaming.

Perhaps that is why it took a few seconds to register the huskily whispered sentence. "I know what you are."

And, upon opening his eyes, another few precious moments were lost as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing reflected in the mirror above him.

A stake. Being driven towards his heart with lighting speed and precision. A wooden stake. In the clutches of a beautiful, curly haired, naked, fanged vampire.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: No smut here, just fill-in for storyline ;( Thanks to those who have added this story to their 'alerts'! But, also feel free to review, to give me some constructive criticism, please...I can take it**!

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><p>He was resting in a meadow. Soft wind blowing over his face, stirring his hair, ruffling his shirt. Lying in the tickling grass, he could hear birds calling each other across the sun-warmed glen. He felt at peace, a calmness enveloping him, cradling him, soothing away the emptiness that had, for so long, relentlessly plunged a knife into his heart.<p>

His name was being called from a great distance, from beyond the tranquil pasture. The call seemed to originate from deep within the dark forest surrounding his haven. "For fuck's sake, come back. Please."

The pleading voice sounded familiar. He resisted its call. He wanted, _needed_, this inner stillness, his soulless heart reveling in the feeling of happiness that had been denied him so long.

His name, followed by "Jesus Christ, don't leave me now. Not when I just found you again. Please. I need you. I'm sorry." From his sun-dappled field, he tried to ignore the pleading. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to return to a world where he was alone. But he couldn't withstand the sounds of crying as the unseen caller broke down in sobs.

Pain flooded his body. It hurt to breathe, so he stopped, knowing he didn't need to push air in and out of for the sake of appearances. He couldn't move. His chest seemed to be on fire. He could feel his heart although it didn't beat. It felt bruised, raw, wrecked.

'Dying would feel really good right about now', he thought. But, despite himself, he struggled to hold on, to not return to the place of his chimera, the mirage before what would have clearly been his demise.

Opened his eyes cautiously, and instantly regretted the attempt as an enormous wave of nausea tilted the world. Turning his head, he vomited blood, his own.

"Thank God." The relief in the other man's voice was apparent. "I thought maybe he had got more of the stake in your heart than you could withstand."

The healing was going to take a while. He could sense that he had been very lucky; the stake had hit the outside wall of that vital organ. A few millimeters to the left and he would have disintegrated instantly, irrevocably.

He tried opening his eyes again. Damn, he wasn't in a meadow at all. He was laying on a moldy shower curtain, which had been placed over a sagging mattress, an obvious attempt at protecting the bed from bloodstains.

He couldn't detect any street noise beyond the walls of the small, cramped hotel room. It was clearly night, a single, dimly lit table lamp casting shadows around the place.

His aching head was cradled in cool, gentle hands. Focusing, he peered up into worried brown eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, the word causing his head to pound, "Long time no see. Where did you come from?"

The younger man laughed, the sound catching in his throat. He was clearly trying to hold it together. "Yeah, lucky for you. If I'd come into that room a few seconds later you wouldn't be here." His voice faltered.

"OK. So you tracked me down. Saved me from the big, bad vampire. Who the hell was he and where did he go? And how did we get here? How long have I been out?" The questions started to spill out, hurting his chest as he fought to form words.

"Slow down. You need to heal. I have no idea who he was and I didn't stay around to ask. After I shoved him off you (which took all my strength, by the way), I just grabbed you and took off. He didn't give chase, I think he was still a little stunned. Thank God he didn't hear me coming in until the last second. I think he was too focused on driving that stake through your heart. And you've been out of it for three days. Scaring the shit out of me. I thought you were going to…." His voice trailed off.

"You're not crying again, are you? You're such a girl. It would take more than some crazy hippy vampire to get rid of me. But I don't get why he would try to kill me. Most of our kind just leave each other alone."

He could feel the other shrug. "Who knows? We can only hope you don't run into him again. Or that he doesn't decide to track you. He's obviously a much older vampire than us, stronger and meaner."

He laughed, "_No one_ is meaner than me." But, at that point, pain and fatigue overtook him and the room and the night faded away into nothingness.

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><p>It took over a week for his wound to heal, a week spent being pampered and catered to. It was great, he took care not to appear too healthy, to require the constant fussing, the sponge baths, the soothing body rubs.<p>

They avoided talking about the two of them, sticking instead to filling in the details of the years apart. They spent the days and nights talking, lying side by side contently. He was only left alone during the times when the much-needed bags from the nearby Red Cross blood bank or the town's small hospital were collected.

They were no longer in Chicago. He had been carried for over a day, moving at super speed, stopping only when they had reached at an out of the way town. Where their presence would, hopefully, go unnoticed.

And then, finally, one day he felt himself again. Not even a scar on his pale chest to indicate the near-'death' experience he had withstood. The familiar ache was back, the need to kill, to feed on something other than refrigerated, sour AB negative blood.

Abruptly he stood and walked to the drawn curtains, flinging them open. Daylight streamed in, illuminating the worn furniture, the dust particles floating in the room's stale air.

"I've got to get out of here" he exclaimed, surveying the near empty parking lot, the quiet street, and, in the distance, the green hills. "I'm going stir crazy."

"What were you doing with him?" came the whispered, tortured question. Turning, he took in the abject figure sitting on the edge of the bed, the bowed head.

Sighing, he approached. "I was doing exactly what you _think_ I was doing. What you _know_ I was doing." He knelt. "You keep leaving me. I can't stand it. I can't help myself." He laughed bitterly, adding "But I swear I didn't know this one was a vampire. I'm not sure how I didn't know, I've always been able to spot them. There was something different about him, yet somehow he seemed familiar."

Hands were placed in his hair, he was pulled closer. Exhaling, he allowed his head to come to rest on the strong, sturdy knees. "But I'm sorry you found me like that. Not just about the 'being-staked' part, but, you know, that I was with _him_, a guy."

There was silence for a bit. His knees started to ache but he didn't want to complain. Finally, "I know who you are, _what_ you are. I knew that you would be with others. I guess I just always thought they'd be women. It threw me. Bothered me. _Bothers_ me."

"Seriously?" he asked, incredulous, jumping to his feet. "It _bothers_ you that I fuck men? Well, it bothers _me_ that you tell me you_ love_ me, that you _need_ me, that you can't fucking be without me, and then, not even hours later, you fuck off and leave me. So, yeah, I'm sorry that you found me with a guy, but you have to understand, I find it pretty hard to be without you, to not be able to touch you, hold you, go to sleep with you, wake up with you. It's never been about them being _male_, I was missing _you_. Bottom line is, you don't really have the right to be 'bothered' by who I choose to have sex with. You're not around to see it, to give a shit. But if it makes you feel any better, I always kill them afterwards, and I _don't_ tell them that I love them. That was yours alone. _Is_ yours. You're my brother, I love you. When I don't fucking hate you."

His rage, his longing, his desperation overcame him. He left the hotel room, fists clenched, fangs bared. Every time, every fucking time. It was starting to get old. The two of them, never at peace apart, never at peace together.

All he wanted to do was to turn around and go back in that shit hole of a room, and grab him, and kiss him and kiss him and….

Instead he began to run, his desire for what couldn't be driving him away from the very one he'd been starving for.


	4. Chapter 4

The crowd pushed forward en masse. Feet, encased in impossibly high platform heels or equally dangerous-seeming gold dusted spiky heels, threatened to topple over the painfully, slave-to-fashion, thin women and greased up men staggering eagerly towards the front of the line.

He couldn't see past the wave of glistening, sparkly ponytails, the mile high Afros and the endless blinding clothes ostensibly composed entirely of glitter. However, he could sense that the line was finally moving.

"Jesus Christ" he muttered aloud. This was fucking ridiculous. What the hell was he even doing here? He hated bad fashion. He detested celebrities. He couldn't stand the wildly, inanely popular music called 'disco'. He couldn't even abide the man who had given him the coveted-by-many ticket for tonight's grand opening. The supposed 'party to end all parties'. Great.

He stared, rather nonplussed, at the slim, good-looking kid hanging onto the arm of a woman with enormous eyes. 'He should be home in bed' he thought to himself (sounding dangerously like an old man), 'Not about to enter the lair of talentless, falsely idolized, and freaked out people whose only contribution to the world is some form of crap disguised as 'art'.'

The youngster was trying hard to look cool, casual, like he belonged. He heard the whispers starting and spreading throughout the restless throng. 'That's him." "That's Michael." "Look, he's with Liza." "He's so cute." Squeals ensued. Yuck.

He thought briefly about leaving, heading back to his studio (trendily referred to as a 'loft' by his fellow Greenwich residents). Decided he needed the distraction, the hunt, the conquest, the kill. It would be welcome entertainment, life was getting dull, routine.

It would be easy pickings tonight with this drugged up mob, maybe he should go for a celebrity, that would make some wild headlines for the opening night of this shit hole. He surveyed the scene before him. People were entering the dance club, streaming past the quiet looking man guarding the marquee entrance.

Located his rumpled invitation from deep within the skin tight, wide bottomed pants he was uncomfortably wearing. With some degree of trepidation, he passed the coveted piece of paper over and entered the bedlam that was Studio 54.

The scene inside was an assault to his senses: columns of coloured lights, a large, hanging half moon with a spoon (Nice. Obvious drug reference. Subtle), sweat-slick bodies and the constant thrumming, pulsing, throbbing beat that got inside and felt like an unrelenting heart attack.

He pushed his way through the mass of bobbing, gyrating bodies heaving together on the large dance floor. Head down, he walked full on into the thrust-out chest of one of the ugliest, yet somehow compellingly sexiest men he'd ever 'run' into.

Those lips. Wholly crap, they were incredible, begging to be kissed, sucked. "Watch where you're going, dickhead" the skinny, hyper-mobile man yelled, British accent apparent.

"Sorry" he muttered and kept plowing through the dancers. "Your last album was shit," he turned and yelled back over his shoulder. 'Childish? Perhaps. But what a prick' he thought, pushing against naked limbs with his elbows.

Finally. He'd made it to the other side. Climbed the open staircase to the balcony above. Kept going up, third floor. It was here that Andy had assured him the 'real action' would be happening.

Sure enough. The door opened to reveal two over-done-up blondes bent over a low table and several men seated throughout the small room. But his eyes were drawn instantaneously to _him_.

* * *

><p>"What the hell are <em>you<em> doing here?" he snarled, totally stunned, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Hello" responded the familiar figure. More than familiar. He spoke from around a pretty Asian girl straddling his lap, a total hussy who was sucking on the proffered neck. "I was wondering when you'd show up. This is totally your scene. This party is frigging awesome, huh? Say 'hi' to, um, what's your name again, sweetheart?"

The girl pulled her lips off his neck with a 'pop'. Flicking her long, dark hair, she tossed "Candy" over her shoulder and resumed her attack on the long neck. And added body grinding to her arsenal. Gross. Disgusting, in fact. How the mighty Saint had fallen.

From across the stuffy, smoky space, he slowly regarded the open-neck, clinging black silk shirt, the painted-on dress pants, the ridiculous high-heeled shoes. His hair (what the hell _was_ going on with his hair?) had been piled high and slicked back with some foul-smelling substance. Numerous rings, besides the infamous one, adorned the long, slender fingers. A Rolex glistened on his delicate-looking wrist. And…were those actually chains slung around his neck?

The dude was totally taking the 'days of disco' way too seriously.

And. He had clearly been snorting cocaine, the hundred-dollar bill still rolled up across the mirror placed casually on the table, white powdered residue clinging to its surface.

Oh my god, he was _still_ talking, blathering away about how it had been such a long time, and how this club was going to be huge, and how easy it was to get drugs. Blah blah blah. This was annoying. Ridiculous. Embarrassing even.

"Shut the fuck up" he yelled, advancing, fists clenched. The others in the room paused momentarily, stared at him with mild surprise, and then resumed whatever it was they'd be doing, confident that the outburst wasn't being directed at them.

Everyone that is, except the object of his derision. _ He_ started to laugh, uncontrollably, almost hysterically.

Beside himself with rage (although why he was so angry he couldn't really have said), he reached out, grabbed Candy and tossed her across the room. She landed with an 'oomph' on a very handsome young male who momentarily appeared startled but accepted her onto his lap. The girl started to suck on _his _neck, barely missing a beat.

Shit. He glared, hoping that looks could kill. No such luck. The laughing continued.

He spun on his heel and left the room. Made a mad dash for the exit, pushing people out of the way roughly, going a little more quickly than humanly possible. Too fucking bad. He needed to get away from him, from that ceaseless, maniacal laughter. Or he would….What? What would he do?

Rounded the corner, he came to an abrupt stop. Because there _he_ was. Leaning casually up against the brick wall, looking, well, looking hot. Despite the disco fatigues. Figured.

"Sorry about that" the disco fiend said softly, "Drugs kinda make me.."

"Stupid?" he suggested, not moving.

"Yeah" the other snorted, "You could say that. I was just so happy to see you. I'd heard that Andy had a new 'boy toy' and I knew from the description that it was you. I was hoping you'd show up tonight."

"I'm nobody's 'boy toy'" was all he could think to say. And then, he added, "And Andy Warhol is a megalomaniac."

"Unlike yourself" retorted the other, not missing a beat.

"Ha ha, very funny. However, _I_ wasn't the one with a hooker on his lap only moments ago, cocaine at his feet, young boys at his beck and …."

Lips crashed onto his. Arms were thrown around his body, pulling him close. 'Jesus' was his last coherent thought, 'I've missed him.'

How they made it back to his loft, he couldn't remember, he only knew the night that followed for what it was. Sheer, unadulterated pleasure and desire mixed with that other emotion. The human sentiment that kept screwing things up between them. The emotion he vowed wouldn't become an issue this time.

* * *

><p>And it worked for a while. Two years. Two years of allowing human emotions to surface whenever they were together. Which was most of the time. Moving just outside of New York City. The best of both worlds. He ignored the rabbit and squirrel hunting and the other turned a blind eye to his overnight 'trips' back to the loft. And he was happy.<p>

Things might have worked out indefinitely. If it wasn't for Mystic Falls. Not so much a pull for him but the younger man was drawn there. He wouldn't say where he was going, he would just disappear. But he always knew where he'd gone. Back to where it all began. The town of their _birthplace_. Hah.

New York. He had been left alone again in the dull, boring forest. Decided to check out the new club near his apartment. Some young Bohemian singer. Found a table at the back of the busy, noisy club. Started to drink heavily, he was, after all, trying to 'cut back' on his human consumption. He was trying to do it for _him_.

Sensed he was being watched. Turning his head slightly, he caught the eye of a cute, mustached youngish male who was obviously giving him the 'once over'.

'Great' he sighed to himself. 'He's gorgeous. And it's been awhile." Two years in fact. One of the 'rules', he was not to be with other men. A rule he had been happy to adhere to. After all, it was _him_ he wanted, not the countless, meaningless men he had fucked and then killed. It was always him.

But, Christ, this one was hot. And he was hungry. Perhaps a quick dalliance, followed by an even quicker kill?

He motioned to the chair beside him and the other male stood and approached.

"Hi. I'm Robert. I haven't seen you in here before".

Patting the chair beside him, he replied, "Well. I thought this place had just opened. So, I _haven't_ been in here before." As Robert sat down, he added "And you have to come up with a better opening line than that. Too cliché. It's only a step up from 'Come here often?'"

Robert chuckled. "Yeah. I get nervous. Approaching guys is still new to me. Especially when they are as good-looking as you. I never know what to say."

"Start with something simple. Like, 'Hi. I'm Robert. You're hot. I want to fuck you.' Or, 'I want you to fuck me.' Whichever way it goes for you. But in this scenario," he pointed at himself, "It better be the second one, because I don't get fucked. Ever."

Robert was looking a little overwhelmed. "I've never actually…" his voice trailed off.

"Oh shit. A virgin. Sorry buddy. That's a little too much work for me. I'm looking for 'down and dirty'. So, thanks for the offer but I'm not interested in cherry-busting."

The other man looked crestfallen. "I'd have been OK with anything, it's just so hard to meet people, you know?"

"So you'd settle for a blow job from a stranger? You can do better than that. You're good looking, seem intelligent enough. It can't be impossible to meet nice guys. Now run along and leave me alone."

"Please?" He heard the pleading in the voice, the desperation. "I really want to be with you, you're perfect." Well, flattery _was_ his Achilles heel. And the night was wearing on.

"Let's go then. My place, it's near here."

* * *

><p>The young man stood still, staring around the loft. "This is cool. You have a great place."<p>

"Come here." He wasn't about to waste time exchanging pleasantries. He kissed the other man gently. Placed a hand on the visible bulge straining the jean's fabric. "Nice. Now let me see what I'm getting."

'Robert' started to blush but popped the button and slowly undid the zipper. Shifting a little, he lowered his pants until they were resting on his hips. Pulled out the thick, swollen cock, pre-cum already glistening on its head.

"Very nice indeed." He nodded with approval. "Let me help you with that." And dropped to his knees. Pulled down the jeans until they were pooled around the other man's ankles.

Taking in as much as he could, he began licking and sucking as he reached around and grabbed onto the now-bare ass. 'Robert' began to moan, simultaneously thrusting his hips forward and back, face fucking him. Wow. Didn't feel like the guy was so new to this. He could feel his own erection responding, throbbing.

He looked up into the face above him. Green eyes stared back, the expression inscrutable. Suddenly he was hit with an extreme wave of déjà vu. Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Where had he seen them before?

And at that precise moment, as the cum began to spurt into his awaiting mouth, and as he struggled to comprehend what was going on, he realized they weren't alone.

His brother was standing at the open door behind him. Watching.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I've been away. And I'm having trouble getting this story to go where it needs to go. So, here is a short chapter to remind you that this story is still being written! Please let me know that you're still out there ie. Review...thanks ;)

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><p>Crap. Well, this was an uncomfortable situation. To say the least. And it probably wasn't going to end well. He briefly considered remaining on his knees and ignoring the intruder. But that would just prolong the inevitable.<p>

So, he awkwardly scrambled to his feet, trying not to touch the man in front of him. The handsome 'Robert' was staring across the room at the interloper. The slim, young male who appeared frozen, hand still on the doorknob. "Who the hell is that?" Robert demanded, rather loudly.

Turning slowly, he instinctively started to lick his lips, decided that would be rather like rubbing salt in the wound, so instead, he wiped the last remnants of spunk off his chin.

Flashing his famous winning grin, he pointed his finger and announced theatrically, "_That_ is my brother. Who is _supposed_ to be frolicking about in our quaint, friendly hometown of Mystic Falls, not stalking me in my free zone aka Greenwich Village. What happened to our deal, brother dearest?"

"I missed you" was the simple reply. The younger man looked shell shocked, disbelieving of the scene before him.

Great, now he was supposed to feel guilty. Human emotions were just so tedious. And unavoidable when it came to dealing with his brother.

'Robert' was hastily pulling up his pants. "Um. I don't know exactly what's going on here but I think I'll just leave you two to sort things out."

"Not so fast" he snarled, and before anyone could move, the green eyes grew vacant as their owner's throat was ripped open.

"Nice one" was his brother's sarcastic response. "You didn't even feed on him. You just killed him. I thought you weren't doing that anymore."

"Well, he couldn't very well leave here, now could he? And you don't like to watch me feed on humans so I didn't want to offend your sensibilities by indulging in front of you. What would you have me do? What would _you_ have done?"

"I wouldn't have betrayed you, broken our pact."

"Oh please. Your part of our so-called pact is a cakewalk. _You_ don't have to give up anything, you don't endure any hardships. It's me who is making all the sacrifices to be with you." He could feel his irrational anger rise.

"Oh my god. Look." His brother's tone had changed. He no longer sounded angry, crushed. Instead, his voice registered surprise, alarm.

Turning, he saw immediately that the body was gone. Where the dead man had lain only moments before was now an empty space, not even a dent or bloodstain on the carpet to indicate where he had fallen.

"What the hell?" He stared wildly around the room as if trying to spot the vanished figure hiding in the drapes or crouching behind the furniture. "That's impossible. He was totally dead. I heard his heart stop."

"Well, clearly he wasn't dead. Or he wasn't human." The two stared at each other, for once, both completely at a loss for words.

* * *

><p>The two of them never seemed to get it right. Their love for each other tainted by the complications of their long ago life, their untimely and ill-famed demise, their rebirth and their consequential immortality.<p>

Katherine, the one whose name was never mentioned, haunted them. Her presence was always felt. In their most intimate moments, she was between them, preventing them from breaking down the mountain-high barriers of hurt and anger. Causing them to turn on each other, rather than turning to each other in times of need.

His brother allowed him his anger, his viciousness, because of his guilty conscious. That is what he believed. And he used this knowledge to his advantage, hurting his brother over and over. Sometimes unintentionally (as on the night in Greenwich Village) but more often his behaviour was malicious, with the sole intention of wounding the very being he loved above all else.

Reprehensible? Yes. Forgivable? Apparently. Because whatever test he placed in front of his brother, no matter how outrageous his behaviour became, his younger brother always pardoned him. Eventually. Their bond was too strong. And so the game continued. Decade after decade.

* * *

><p>The 80's. Ten years he could have done without. Spent alone. He tried to connect with his brother on several occasions, wanting to discuss the weirdness of that night in Greenwich Village.<p>

Not just being caught in the act of performing fellatio on a handsome, curly haired, blue/green-eyed stranger but the circumstances surrounding that particular man.

He wanted to share with his younger brother that he was becoming increasingly convinced he had met 'Robert' before. Maybe more than once. He wanted to tell Stefan that he could swear he'd had sex with the guy on more than one occasion, that the body, the face, and especially the eyes seemed hauntingly familiar. That maybe he had even previously killed him.

But his brother hadn't forgiven him yet for the infidelity, despite his best assurances that it hadn't been about sex, he had just wanted to feed on the guy. He had tried to tell him that the blowjob was just a bonus, that it was meaningless. But Stefan hadn't seen it that way. Not at all.

And so the 80's went by in a haze of self indulgence and nihilistic deeds. ie. he screwed around a lot and killed a bunch of people. And then came the 90's. A whole new decade in which to find Stefan and to convince his brother not to leave him again. Ever.


	6. Chapter 6

Here is the second part of the chapter I posted the other day. Getting to 'present day' ie. Season One! Stay tuned. And thanks to those who are reading along either silently or who are honouring me with reviews!

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><p>He hated winter. Especially winter in Seattle. He questioned his judgment, this decision to travel north in January. But he had left Mystic Falls hurriedly. Having arrived there only to find that he had apparently missed reuniting with his brother by a couple of weeks.<p>

And so he had headed north. Into the grey skies. He felt empty, cold- much like the landscape. Seattle was bleak, seemingly devoid of energy and lightness. It suited him.

He glanced up as the concertgoers began straggling out of the large arena. He had gone inside for a couple of songs (extremely angsty and fucking depressing) but he could smell death radiating from the blonde haired, tortured lead singer. In his gloomy state, he didn't need another reminder of loss, a life soon to be cut short, unfulfilled.

He scanned the crowd, his excellent night vision quickly registering and passing over the multitudes of fashionable grunge youngsters. His search ending as his eyes locked on the handsome, muscular man with dirty blonde, straggly curls surrounding the square, strong face.

Ah ha. It was _him. _He was sure of it. 'Bobby', the nameless vamp from the Martin Luther King riots, 'Robert'. Who knows how many other times he had met up with this creep, fucked him, killed him? Only to meet up with him again a decade later, give or take a year.

Well. Tonight was it. He was going to get some answers. He wanted to know what game was being played.

He fell into the crowd, maneuvering until he was directly behind his prey. And stepped heavily on the handsome man's heel, making sure it hurt.

"Shit" the man stopped abruptly and stepped out of the line.

Inwardly smirking, he put his arm around the other man's shoulders and replied with fake enthusiasm, "Sorry man, someone pushed me into you. Are you OK?"

"Yeah. It just took me by surprise. I think my shoe came off." The man bent over, pushing his foot back into his shoe. Straightening, he turned to look at his inadvertent assailant. No surprise or recognition registered in the blue (shit, were they blue or green?) eyes.

"No real harm done" the rugged man said, resuming his walk towards the parking lot. "You sure stomped on me though. I'll probably have a bruise. Lucky for you I'm tough." The voice was low with a hint of an accent that he couldn't place. He was sure it was the same voice of the vampire who had attacked him. Sexy, yet commanding.

"Let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink? We can discuss the contribution Nirvana has made to American pop culture. Or, more importantly, how to treat bruised heels." He pulled an embarrassed face, "Or, you can teach me how to walk properly."

The other man laughed, a charismatic, husky sound. "I'm not sure any of those would make for a very long conversation. But you can buy me a drink. Did you drive here?"

He shook his head to indicate 'no' and followed him to a late model Porsche. Figured.

"Nice car. Doesn't really scream 'grunge' though. More like, 'I have lots of money.'"

Again that laugh-seductive, charismatic. Its owner unlocked the car door and, with a grandiose hand gesture, ushered him onto the luxurious leather seat. Nice. Very nice.

Aloud he said, "I don't know Seattle well. You'll have to choose a place."

"How about my place?" The blue-green eyes threw him a glance sideways. "It's not too far from here. And I keep a well-stocked bar."

"I bet you do. Sure, that sounds fine." He struggled to keep his voice even, unconcerned. He listened carefully. He could swear he heard a heart beat, a pulse. _Who_ was this guy? _What_ was this guy?

Minutes later they pulled up to a tall, well appointed apartment building. Entered the underground parking garage. The elevator ride was quick, straight to the top. Penthouse. Of course.

"Welcome to my humble abode." He was waved in with a bow. Really, the guy had his act down pat. He was charming, friendly while remaining slightly detached, almost 'professional' in his manner.

The apartment was spacious, tastefully decorated and devoid of any personal touches. The sunken living room afforded a view of the Seattle skyline, visible through the wide expanse of windows surrounding the large, open space.

He nodded approvingly, moving through the room towards the glass. He looked out, noting the Space Needle in the twinkling landscape. Struggled to remember his 'game plan'. How was he going to confront this affable stranger?

Lost in thought, it didn't immediately register that the object of his musings had come up behind him. He felt strong hands wrap around his waist. He was tugged gently backwards and he forced himself to relax into the broad chest.

He bowed his head, tilting it slightly as he felt the full, soft, cool lips kiss the tender skin on his neck. Shit, that felt good. More kisses rained down, marking a trail up to his ear.

"Would you like to go to my bedroom? We would probably be more comfortable there."

Jesus. _He_ was supposed to be the one in control of the situation, demanding answers. Instead his legs were quivering and his traitorous dick was doing the 'thinking' for him rather than his other head, the one supposedly with the brains in it.

Trying to pull himself together, he turned. Straight into a full on lip lock. Of the best kind. Kisses no longer soft, tender. Now his mouth was being ravaged, lips bruised, tongue pulled forcefully into awaiting teeth where it was nipped, twisted, thrust back.

A hand was placed between his legs. The firm stroking through the roughness of his jeans causing shudders of pleasure. He inadvertently groaned, his arousal making itself audibly known. He felt the knowing smile against his lips.

Shit. He was doing a crap job of playing detective. In this moment he didn't really care anymore who this guy was. He just wanted to be led down the dimly lit hall and splayed naked across the sheets. Which he assumed would be satin.

His back was up against the wall. Literally. He felt fingers undoing his zipper. Made no move to stop them. His pants were pulled swiftly down and he stepped out, kicking them to the side. The other man's trendily ripped jeans soon joined his. Shirts were added to the pile.

It was official. He'd lost his mind. What was he _thinking_ by allowing this to happen? His brother wouldn't be here to rescue him this time. Unless on this occasion he was supposed to kill the guy. And he wasn't planning on accommodating that kinky death wish this time. Instead he would be demanding answers.

It was all so confusing. Bizarre, in fact. Seriously, he could have used his brother's thoughts on this. But, no, his brother was busy punishing him for his 'disloyal' ways. Or whatever it was he was being punished for this decade.

By now he had been kissed and fondled down the long, narrow hallway and into the enormous master bedroom. He hit the satin sheets (hah hah, called it) pulling the broader man down with him.

He took his time-his hands roving over the broad, hairy chest, the rippling abdominals, the hard, thick cock. This body was magnificent, perfection personified. And the way the gorgeous male used his lips, his hands, those abs, thighs…shit, this was getting crazy.

He wasn't even thinking about how to physically overpower his bed partner. Not at all. In fact, he was beginning to entertain the notion that he wouldn't mind being 'overpowered' instead. Something he rarely allowed to happen.

But he couldn't think straight. The voice whispering in his ear was driving him to distraction, urging him on, turning him on. It was all too much. It had to stop. Or all would be lost, his quest ended before he had any answers.

But he just felt too fucking great. The eyes staring into his were so vivid, so intense.

His last drowning, conscious thought was 'What kind of vampire can compel another vampire?'


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Couple of more chapters to follow. Thanks again to those reading along!

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><p>"We've gone over this. A million times. That's all I know. I was compelled. I woke up back at my place. End of story. That's the last time I feel like I've seen him. And it was four months ago. I can't tell you anything else."<p>

But that wasn't true. There was more, but he sure as hell wasn't going to share _those_ memories with his brother. The fleeting glimpses into that night, the events that played out in his head every time he closed his eyes. The visions had a dream-like quality to them, almost like they happened to somebody else.

But it _had_ been him. He had been the one on his back. Loving every inch of it. Begging for it, moaning his pleasure, his desire. For hours and hours he had been, to put it mildly, out of control. A position he didn't want to be in ever again. Because he hated not being in control. Normally.

He couldn't remember all of what happened. But he knew he had done things he'd never done before. That he'd responded to a man in a way he'd never known was possible. His craving for the muscular, passionate being who pounded him into the sheets unparalleled anything he had ever experienced.

He had told Stefan the truth the last time they'd been together. For him, it never was about sex when he sought out other men. Instead it was about his brother and their complex, messed up relationship. He never dated men, never compelled them, or fed on them, or repeated a tryst. He'd killed every single man he'd ever fucked, fed on them, discarded them but never lost control.

And he never let himself get fucked. Well, twice. Once it had been necessary to complete the kill. (Long story) The only other time had been that fated night. When he'd been out for answers. And ended up with even more unanswered questions.

Frowning, he flipped over onto his stomach, pushing Stefan closer to the edge of the small bed. His thoughts returned to that infamous night.

When he'd been fucked. Literally and figuratively. He'd awoken in his own bed, no recollection of returning, no recollection of anything beyond the wild, crazy, super fantastic sex. Vampire sex.

He couldn't share those memories with his younger brother. It was all too complicated. And Stefan had just recently returned to him. He wouldn't jeopardize this most recent truce, their passionate reunion by sharing his 'sexual encounter of another kind'.

Instead, he ran a thumb gently up his brother's thigh and buried his fingers in the mound of pubic hair, tugging gently.

"Wouldn't you rather spend our first few days together in over a decade thinking of things other than a rogue vampire? Admittedly, he isn't your typical, garden-variety fanger. I mean, seriously, what vampire have you met who can change his outward appearance, fake a heartbeat and come back from the dead? "

Stefan shook his head and removed the fisted fingers now stroking his hardening penis. "Damon. Focus. This guy has a thing for you. Whatever that may be. He was going to kill you."

"Then why didn't he this last time? Why did he just, um, compel me and return me? It would have been easy enough to kill me. After all, my little brother wasn't there to rescue me." He affectionately ruffled Stefan's hair, knowing full well that his brother hated having his hair mussed.

Stefan sat up, leaning against the wall, and flattened his hair back down with both hands. He shot a look that would have quelled a mortal man. "Damon. We have to figure this out. In case he comes back. For _when_ he comes back. Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Because I'm enjoying being with you. I'd rather focus on this," he replied, running a hand along the lengthy torso beside him, pausing to tweak the sensitive nipple, "than a not-present, fucked-up vampire."

His brother sighed, kissing the top of his head. "You're always so 'in the moment', so reactionary. You need to plan, think of the future."

"No, Stefan. That's_ your_ job. _My_ job is to fuck things up. To make a mess of your 'best-laid' plans. Now come here." Growling, he pulled his brother on top of him. And the conversation was left. For the moment.

* * *

><p>"OK, he likes music. Every time, except the first time, I've spotted him at a music venue. So, I figure we hang out in clubs, concerts until we see him. And then I hook up with him, get him alone. Then you come in and stake him. See? And you thought I couldn't make a plan."<p>

"That's an extremely lame plan, Damon. It could take decades, or more. And he may have figured out that you know about him, that you're stalking him. I think he is really dangerous. And are you sure he's on his own? I mean, most of us travel in pairs."

"Yeah, except when their brother is busy punishing them. For nothing." Stefan shot him a look. "OK, so it isn't the best plan. Got a better one?"

His younger brother shook his head negatively and looked a bit crestfallen. "No. Let's start listening to music then. God I hope he is out of his 'grunge' phase. I hate that shit."

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><p>Tinley Park. Back to Chicago. Elvis Costello. He was getting tired of this. But couldn't think of another way to 'run' into the guy. Scuffed his foot against the fence as he awaited entrance into the amphitheatre.<p>

He seriously would rather just be with Stefan. His brother seemed more relaxed this time, less serious. He denied any major 'life changing' event. But something had happened to him. Perhaps Stefan would tell him about it one day. He had left Stefan back at their shared motel. There was no point in both of them wasting their time standing in lines.

Shit. The young man beside him in line was giving him the 'eye'. Seriously, dude. He shot a dirty look, trying to discourage the unwanted attention.

And started. The scruffy appearance. The scraggly dirty blonde locks. And the eyes looking back at him. Those eyes that shifted from green to blue. It was _him_. Crap. And no Stefan.

This situation had 'disaster' written all over it.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: so, I've been busy being on vacation and writing for my collaboration with Silverfoxpunk. (Check out our new story, _Now That You're Gone_, authored under: Sleepwell-Silverfox- it is a Delena,Stefan,Damon love triangle/circle/web with promises of Slash! or try our first story, _Every Dog Has Its Day_ (which apparently is a popular title for stories, so keep scrolling, it is there!), a Damon/Brady Slash pairing). We would welcome your opinion on those stories, collaborating is fun but takes work, so feedback of any sort is appreciated. Silverfoxpunk's stories are also totally worth a read, the new one will contain numerous pairings, including Slash.  
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**Anyway, I debated about waiting to publish this chapter with the next, final chapter but decided to post it now as I'll be away for a bit again. The final chapter will be longer and smuttier, I promise! Thanks for reading.**

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><p>Shit. Why didn't he ever listen to his brother? Stefan had explicitly told him not to do this alone. And here he was, face to face with the very one they sought. The only immortal he'd ever been slightly intimidated by. Ok, <em>very<em> intimidated by.

The intense eyes peered into his. "You recognize me this time, don't you?" came the now familiar, slow, slightly accented voice. "And I took such care to change my appearance this time."

"Who the hell are you and why are you stalking me?" He spoke harshly. If his heart could pound, it would be beating like a jackhammer.

The young man laughed, a rather sardonic sound. "My dear boy, you flatter yourself. I'm not stalking you, I merely find myself in close proximity with you on occasion. It's inevitable. After all, we vampires are bound to run into each other from time to time over the decades, centuries. And apparently, we share a proclivity." The last sentence was a sneer, the glance directed towards his crotch.

"Shut up. We don't 'share' anything. And I don't believe you. It's more than a coincidence that you and I have, um, met up on several occasions now. I want to know why. And I also want to know how you can change your appearance, fake a heartbeat, simulate a mortal death and disappear in the blink of a vampire's eye. Among other things." He stared defiantly back at the imposing figure.

The majority of the crowd had entered the amphitheater by now, strands of music wafted through the still evening air. The two were alone, with the exception of the occasional concert-going straggler. The other man pulled him along by the elbow, away from the buildings. Christ, he was strong.

"See here, Damon. I don't need to explain myself to you. You and your brother should be running in the opposite direction, not trying to find me. I see now that it was a mistake to become involved with you."

"Oh, so is that what we are? We're 'involved'? What the hell does that even mean? And quit pulling on my arm. I don't want to go anywhere with you. I know how being alone with you goes. Either you end up dead and disappearing or you try to kill me."

He stopped walking and turned to face the heavier, muscular man. "By the way, what do you know about my brother? Keep him out of this." he added, a stab of fear for Stefan passing through him.

The other man regarded him closely and began to laugh again. God, he was beginning to hate that sarcastic, condescending laugh. This guy was turning out to be an arrogant prick.

It was also becoming clear that this vampire was old, much older than himself and Stefan. It was evident in the way he carried himself, his self-confidence but also in his strength, his sleek movements, it could even be seen in his dead, soulless eyes. And 'older' in the vampire world meant additional powers, powers that he wouldn't even begin to be able to compete against. His decision to seek out this other worldly being was really starting to seem like a bad idea. Kinda like Stefan had indicated in the first place.

What had he gotten himself into? And, more importantly, how was he going to get out of this unscathed? In the next instant, those questions became even more pressing as he simultaneously heard Stefan's approach and the older vampire's greeting, "Well hello, Stefan. Welcome to our little reunion. Your brother and I were just reminiscing about the times he and I have spent together. Getting to know one and other, so to speak. I can see the appeal he has for you. He's gorgeous. Simply yummy."

Great. Just fucking great.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Finally! Here is the last chapter of what turned into an extremely long story (by my standards!) I hope it is OK and that you figure out who the stranger is.** **Thanks to my faithful reviewers and to those reading along.** **I won't be writing for a while for various reasons but you can still check out SilverFoxPunk's and my collaboration, 'Now That You're Gone' under our joint authorship: sleepwell-silverfox. It is a true love triangle (wink wink). Until next time, read and review, SW**

**Oh, and I know this is frowned on, but listen to the song below while you read this chapter. It is Damon and Stefan's relationship!**

**Matthew Good Band, 'Weapon'. Music and lyrics owned by the band.  
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><p>Here by my side, an angel. Here by my side, the devil. Never turn your back on me. Never turn your back on me again. Here by my side, it's heaven. Here by my side, you are destruction. Here by my side, a new colour to paint the world.<p>

Never turn your back on it. Never turn your back on it again. Here by my side, it's heaven. Careful, be careful. Careful, be careful. This is where the world drops off, where the world drops off. Careful, be careful.

And you breathe in. And you breathe out. For it ain't so weird how it makes you a weapon. And you give in. And you give out. For it ain't so weird how it makes you weapon.

Never turn your back on it. Never turn your back on it again. Careful, be careful. Here by my side it's heaven.

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><p>Feeling his brother's arm wrap around his shoulders, he instantly became calmer, confident. Glancing briefly at Stefan's chiseled profile, he could see by the telltale clenched jaw muscle that his brother was anything but relaxed. He hoped the other vampire wouldn't say anything to set Stefan off.<p>

"Hello" his younger brother's voice practically dripped with insincerity, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of a formal introduction. I'm Stefan Salvatore." And he held out his hand.

The other man regarded the proffered appendage. He laughed rather sardonically and ignored it. "Oh, I know who you are. I followed your early accomplishments with much interest. A shame you gave up such an illustrious career to chase bunny rabbits. Scandalous waste of talent." The vampire shook his head ruefully.

He felt the arm across his shoulders stiffen. "I'm sorry you feel that way." Stefan's voice had gone cold. "But that is not a time period I care to revisit. And Damon doesn't need to share in those memories either." With that, his brother began to pull him away, moving him down the street.

"Whoa, there. Didn't mean to offend your sensibilities, Stefan. It's endearing that you are so protective of your older brother. Not wanting him to hear all the fascinating details of your 'Ripper' era. Of course, I'm sure that Damon shares _all_ of his misadventures each time the two of you become reacquainted." The last statement was framed as a question, with innuendo placed in every word. He felt himself grow uneasy. Where was this heading?

Stefan stopped walking, his arm dropping from its perch around his shoulders. Stefan turned slowly to face the handsome vampire who continued to smile, seemingly enjoying himself.

"What my brother does or doesn't do is none of your concern. He is free to do what he wants. And we would appreciate you leaving us alone from here on out. We are peaceful vampires and we don't want any trouble. With you or anyone else."

Crap. Stefan really knew how to come off like a sanctimonious prick sometimes. And this was probably not a good time for such a self-righteous speech. This smug, condescending asshole wouldn't let them just walk away after that.

"I see." The vampire's smile vanished, his expression shifting to evil.

"So, the fact that Damon spends more time stalking and _fucking_ men than he does stalking and _killing_ human prey isn't news to you? Hmm. I was led to believe that you were concerned for his _soul_, Stefan, that you disapproved of his reckless killing of humans.

The rumours would have me believe that the two of you fight because of your different 'philosophies' regarding how to live amongst the living. But, no. In reality, it is the banal human emotions of jealousy and rage that rip the two of you apart each time.

How pedestrian. I'm disappointed. In both of you. You aren't 'peaceful' vampires. You are _boring_ vampires, hardly worthy of the honour bestowed upon you."

Yep. This evening just kept getting worse. He had felt Stefan become increasingly rigid during the vampire's tirade, his brother's body temperature dropping with each sentence uttered. Maybe he should try to diffuse the tension clearly building between Stefan and the other vampire.

"OK. Dude. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You've met me a few times and you think you know me? You think you know _us_? You don't. So, shut the hell up and fuck off." Maybe that last sentence wasn't the wisest to have thrown out there. Whatever. At this point, bravado was all he had.

His words were met with a snarl. "Oh Damon. I _do_ know you. Better than you think. It is my business to be familiar with all vampires who walk the earth. And I take a special interest in some. I've been following your brother since Kathryn turned him. I've learned many things about him as well.

The most salient fact being that you, Damon, are _everything_ to your dearly loved Stefan. He would do anything for you, to keep you safe, to keep you alive. And that, my sweet, is a fatal flaw in an otherwise perfect vampire. "

"Brotherly love." The vampire's tone was sarcastic, mocking. " I understand the concept. I, too, have been afflicted with such a bond. However, this type of connection to a sibling can be tedious, dangerous. It can prevent one from becoming who he was truly meant to be. "

Stefan's breathing was uneven, his voice hitched. "Well, if it is _me_ that you are so fascinated by, then why have you been stalking my brother? Why bring him into this? To what end?"

"Because _he_ is the way to _you_. And," the smirking vampire added, twisting the knife, "because he's a good fuck."

Before he could react, Stefan had hurled himself at the seemingly impervious vampire, snarling, fangs gleaming in the dark. He didn't detect any movement from the other, but almost instantly, Stefan was flying through the air, smashing into a tree some distance from the walkway.

He ran to where his brother lay still, twisted on the grass. He knelt and gathered Stefan into his arms. Looking up, he glared at the vampire now leaning casually against the tree.

"What the hell do you want from him? Why are you doing this to us?" He yelled in frustration, in fear for his brother. Struggled for self-control he continued, " I don't understand any of this. But touch him again, and I swear to God, you're dead."

The omnipotent vampire had resumed his now familiar, amused expression.

"Damon, Damon, Damon. You are so delightful. Really. You like to portray yourself as the 'bad boy' of the Salvatore brothers, your reputation is that of, how do you Americans say it, a 'hard ass'? You turn off that switch in order to live your true vampire nature. But you can't maintain that persona, the magnificence of being a vampire. Because of your brother. Time and time again you revert to that self loathing, lonely man who loves only one. You crave him, need his presence to remind you of who you once were.

And the one you hold in such esteem struggles to love you back. He feels guilt, self reproach, every time he looks at you. He hates how you live because, deep down, he wants to live like that too. But he has promised himself that he will live a 'different' kind of vampire life. He wants to be noble, magnanimous. He longs to prove that vampires can still retain their humanity.

Don't you see, Damon? He is trying to redeem himself. For what he did to you. For turning you, giving you immortality. He sees what he did as a sin, not for the gift it really was. The two of you will never be able to live in harmony. You are doomed to this pattern of coming together and parting in acrimony. But Stefan is fated for greater things than spending eternity sparring with you. Therefore, I need you gone. I want to help him fulfill his destiny."

This guy was nuts. Certifiably insane. Seriously? _Destiny?_ What destiny? Stefan seemed an unlikely candidate for some mastermind vampire plan.

"When you say 'gone', what exactly do you mean?" he drawled, "I'm just asking because I have no intention of leaving my brother alone with you." He could feel Stefan begin to stir, he was regaining consciousness. Dammit, he didn't want Stefan hearing any of this crazy shit.

"Gone. As in 'no longer present.' Leave and don't come back to him. Ever. If you do, I will kill you and anyone else Stefan has come to care about. Stay, and I kill you now. Either way, you are to leave him alone. Forever."

"Yeah, OK. Not going to happen. Any of it."

"Damon." Stefan whispered, "I think he means it. We should think about this." His brother pulled himself awkwardly into a sitting position, leaning back into him for support.

He wrapped his arms around his younger brother, resting his chin on the top of his head, not caring how this position might look to the imposing vampire.

"I'm not leaving you with this psycho. The guy is a creep." He tightened his embrace. "I'm not going to let him hurt you."

"Admirable. But ridiculous. You don't get it, Damon. I can't be stopped. By you or any other vampire on this planet. And if you don't walk away, I **will** kill you. And if you try to stop me, I'll kill your brother too. I want him but I can make do without his existence. You can't. You don't want to be responsible for his death. So be a good boy and run along. " The vampire made shooing movements with his arms.

"I promise I'll take good care of him. In fact, I'll leave him alone for a while yet. I just need you out of the picture; Stefan needs to do some things over the next decade or so. Things that will help my plan come to fruition when the time is right. And he needs to do this without interference from you."

Oh my god. This freak sounded like a bad sci-fi movie villain. What the hell was he on about?

"Damon. I think he's serious. He will kill you. Please. I don't want that, I couldn't bear it. Not after everything we've been through. Please, Damon. Listen to him."

He closed his eyes, his thoughts racing furiously as he struggled to formulate a plan, a way out. If he left now, there was still a chance to resolve this, to come back and claim Stefan once again. He needed to find out who this vampire was and what his wacked-out 'plan' involved. And why he needed Stefan to accomplish it.

Standing, he faced the enigmatic figure. "If I do this, do you promise not to hurt him? Do you swear that he'll be OK?"

The other vampire reached out his hand, stroked his cheek. "My dear Damon, I swear that as long as Stefan cooperates, I will not hurt him. And, as a gesture of my goodwill, I will give the two of you one last night together. Although," he leered, "I would prefer one last night with _you_, just the two of us. Our last encounter was most enjoyable." And with a final annoying, mocking laugh, he was gone.

* * *

><p>"Damon, will you listen to reason for once? The only chance we have of getting out of this alive is for you to leave now. Leave and devise a plan. And then come back and save the day. Like you love to do. It's the right move. You know it and I know it. So, in the morning you will be gone. Right?"<p>

He sighed. Their argument had been going round and round for what seemed liked hours. They were getting nowhere. He wanted to fight the fanger when the jerk returned and Stefan wanted him gone before the asshole showed up at their hotel room.

He plunked himself down on the bed, flopping onto his back. Reached out for Stefan's hand. Squeezed it tightly and pulled, causing Stefan to land on top of him with an 'oomph'.

Stefan laughed and kissed him. Kissed him again. He was suddenly flooded with emotion. He reached up, cupped the back of his brother's head and drew him down. Their kiss quickly became passionate, their need for each other overriding everything else.

He stroked his brother's back, gripped Stefan's hips as his brother began to grind his erection against him. "Shit" he murmured into the mouth dominating his lips, commanding his tongue, "You feel so good."

Stefan responded by shifting his own weight, creating a small space between them. A space that was soon filled with Stefan's hand fisting him, tugging in the way Stefan knew he liked, his younger brother's ring scraping along the tender, swollen flesh.

"Christ" he exclaimed, meaningful words escaping him. "I need to be inside you. I need to feel you around me."

Stefan hoisted himself into a sitting position. Supporting himself on one arm, Stefan guided his hard, pulsing cock inside. They both gasped aloud, staring into each other's eyes as their bodies adjusted to the heady sensation of their union.

He felt Stefan's cool hands on his chest as his brother began to rock himself slowly forwards and backwards, up and down, then gaining momentum and speed with each pass. His own hips rose to meet Stefan each time, his cock thrusting deeper into the body on top of his.

Their bodies continued to express what they were desperate to say, what needed to be said before the morning light.

Afterwards, lying there, his brother collapsed upon him, he longed for a return to the moment before the unwelcomed intruder had made himself known. He desperately wanted more time with his brother, needed to keep touching him, reassuring himself that their love was still there, still real.

As if reading his thoughts, his brother kissed him and muttered, "You I love. Now. Forever. Together or apart. For always."

There was a pounding at the door. Their eyes met, their mutual fear for the other reflected in blown pupils. Before either brother could respond, the interloper was at the foot of the bed.

"Well, my darlings" the vampire gushed, "The time has come to bid a fond farewell. 'O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day. Most woeful day that ever, ever I did yet behold!' Or something along those lines. I never could abide that loathsome man and his plagiarized iambic pentameter. Now come along Stefan, I need a few words with you in the hall."

Without glancing at him again, Stefan swiftly dressed and left the room with the other vampire.

With a sinking heart, he slowly climbed from the rumpled sheets and dressed. Turning, he found himself nose to nose with the now-hated vampire. "Damon. Alone again at last." The muscular man reached out and cupped his jaw, holding it in a steely grip. "Your beloved Stefan is gone. I had to compel him. He now hates you, thinking only of how you betrayed his love time and time again with oh so many men, in oh so many ways. Tsk Tsk, Damon, you naughty, slutty vampire. How _could_ you treat the only one you've ever truthfully loved in such a fashion?" The laughter that followed the revelation was cruel, spiteful.

"Fuck you" he yelled, unable to contain himself. "You can't compel another vampire. He'll remember what you've done and hate you for it."

"Well, yes. Eventually that may be true. Compelling other vampires can only be done by a very select few of us. And it doesn't always last forever. But it will hold long enough for Stefan to carry on without you for years, to develop 'feelings' for others, to forge a life for himself that doesn't include you."

"Yeah, but I'll know what you've done, I'll come after you." He knocked the arm that was holding him away.

"Sorry, my dear." The other vampire shook his head. "You won't. Because I am going to compel you too. All you're going to be able to focus on is your hatred and jealousy of your younger brother and your desire to stay away from him. For a very long time. Until, maybe, one day, the compelling fades away and you decide to seek him out. But by then it will be too late. He'll no longer be yours."

"You sick bastard." With a defeated groan, he sat down heavily on the unmade bed. "I'll never forgive you for this."

"You won't remember that you've met me, Damon. So there will be no grudge to hold against me. If we ever meet again it will be under much different circumstances, I assure you. Now look at me Damon, look into my eyes. There's a sweetheart."

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><p>He was in a shitty little bar. Listening to some god-awful band belt out a cover of The Rolling Stones' 'Paint It Black'. He couldn't stop drinking, he knew he was going to get extremely wasted. He also knew that he was going to take that tall, sinewy, green eyed boy seated across the room back to his hotel room and fuck him. Right before he killed him. Like he'd done a hundred times before.<p> 


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